


Touch

by gypsiangel



Series: Healing [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: All about the sexing, Healer Percival, Hearing Damaged Percival Graves, Hurt/Comfort in a few different ways, M/M, porn with a bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:43:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9184051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsiangel/pseuds/gypsiangel
Summary: He’d never say it, but he enjoyed patching up the careless boy. Never the hurting part, but the taking care of, the healing. It was such an intimate thing, much more intimate than anyone else really realized. It was why most people didn’t know he could heal like this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am so insanely horrible at finishing what I start, that I tried to challenge myself to write a one-shot and try to get enough backstory in it that I didn't feel the urge to go off on a huge, multi-chapter monster that may or may not ever get completed. Saying such, I might try a series of smaller stories based on the same storyline, if people are interested enough. Anyway, thanks for reading this and please drop me a line to lmk if you enjoyed it! Cheers!

 

 

            There was a point in time where he thought he’d never be free, that his eyes would never open to see another sunrise. There were still times where Percival could feel the coldness of that small, tight space enclosing him on all sides. His hearing had been permanently damaged, one of the vicious curses hurled at him from Grindlewald’s initial strike taking out all of his basic senses. He’d gained all of them back eventually, all except his hearing, which had been compromised already by a nasty bout with dragonpox when he’d been twelve. It had been his first lesson in not trying to be strong and pushing through even when he felt awful. Lecture after lecture after lecture had followed that bit, from his mother’s tearful rant, to the school mediwitch who scolded him for having too much stubbornness and not enough sense. Sadly, that part of his personality hadn’t changed much with age.

            He’d recovered from the sickness, but it had taken a year for them to rebuild his hearing with potions and weekly sessions with a healing specialist. There was no chance of repeating that success. With a mournful look and a pitying sigh, the healer assigned to him had informed him that he’d been isolated too long. If they’d found him within the first week, it might have been a different story. Percival had been hidden away for nearly two months, far past the saving point.

            Everything else had been mended. The untended broken bones, the nerve damage from overexposure to dark, painful curses, the malnutrition and the lasting side effects. He has to use a walking aide, even a good six months after healing, but it was more for balance now than anything else. He can’t sleep in the dark, in fact he has to have a light burning somewhere nearby at all times. Small spaces make him hyperventilate, and he can’t even have his shirts buttoned up all the way at his throat anymore.

            It took him nearly a month to stop taking a swing at anyone coming up in his blind spot, and longer than that to stop keeping his hand on his wand in his pocket, just in case. In her infinite wisdom and with reasons soon apparent, Seraphina had only allowed him back if he accepted Queenie Goldstein as his temporary personal assistant. He was permanently relegated to a desk and he _hated_ it, despite the fact that his position of Director of Magical Security had been mostly an administrative job anyway. He’d still gone out in the field with his aurors on the more difficult cases that needed a more delicate hand, and to put it bluntly, after years being on the magical law enforcement squad, it was difficult to leave it completely to others.

            Percival wasn’t entirely positive he was even capable of being Director anymore. He wasn’t the same man he was before.

            A cool, gentle hand eased into his and he started, looking over at the reason he hadn’t given in to the despair completely. The bright spot in his life, the lunatic that, at one time would have put him off completely. Newton Scamander, baby brother to his oldest friend to date, and a man who had an infuriatingly horrible sense of incoming mortal peril. No, Percival amended as his eyes took in the paleness of his partner’s skin and the purpling bruise taking up the left side of his cheek and jawline, Newt knew the risks in doing what he did. He just didn’t care. There were more important things to take care of, and his own safety merely wasn’t a priority. He knew he made a troubled sound, feeling the vibration of it through his chest as he turned to completely face the other man.

            _“I’m okay, Percy.”_ The lip-reading charm had helped a lot, as had Newt’s insistence on teaching him sign language- or the bastardized version of it he’d learned somewhere along his travels. Percival hadn’t quite understood the long, rambling story that had come with it, but it didn’t matter. Tina, Queenie, Jacob (who Percival had finally caved to pulling the strings to get the no-maj special consideration, and would deny to anyone who dared ask that it was because he was tired of seeing Queenie so unhappy), and even Seraphina had all learned with him. He would also deny that it nearly made him choke up when he saw his aurors taking lessons in secret.

            _“Annabelle was just feeling a bit peevish as I needed to finish grooming her back scales. It was my fault, really, as I should have fed her first. Got ahead of myself and she walloped me good.”_

            Percival shook his head, but cupped Newt’s cheek gently and sent the healing magic out. Wordless (and wandless) magic had always been his strong suit, something that had set him aside from his peers when he was younger, and made him an excellent MACUSA operative. Newt’s eyes fluttered closed and he nuzzled his face into his palm, leaning in so that their bodies were nearly touching. When the younger man jumped and hissed in a breath and tried to pull back, a firm, unyielding hand kept him anchored.

            Eyes narrowed, Percival kept his lover in place and unbuttoned the once-white shirt he insisted was the proper attire for attending his creatures. When it and the undershirt was slipped off thinly muscled arms to pool on the floor at their feet, he was able to see the grapefruit sized hoofprint that decorated Newt’s ribcage. He wasn’t looking to take in the explanation, but he could feel the vibration of the words as he laid his hand on the tender flesh. At least two ribs were cracked, but nothing was broken this time. He’d never say it, but he enjoyed patching up the careless boy. Never the hurting part, but the taking care of, the healing. It was such an intimate thing, much more intimate than anyone else really realized. It was why most people didn’t know he could heal like this.

            When he felt Newt’s shudder, he bent to press his lips to the side of his slender column of a neck, then slowly made his way down and across the surprisingly broad, freckled chest. The magizooligist was an expert at making himself look much smaller and harmless than he really was. Hunched posture and gentle actions mixed with nervous, darting eyes gave the perfect impression of an awkward dolt. Percival had seen through it almost immediately. He figured it made the younger man’s adventurous lifestyle easier when others underestimated him. Poachers, traffickers, and run of the mill abusers were out of their league when faced with Newt Scamander in his full glory, especially when they unwittingly let their guard down enough to let him in.

            Newt stayed still as Percival ran his hands around his torso, walking behind him to look at the expanse of skin on his back. It was such a nice back, spine straight, muscles quivering in reaction to the healing energy and sheer sexual attraction sparking between them. Oh, yes. Percival loved patching him up, watching the gooseflesh raise on that nearly translucent porcelain skin. There was another bruise at the apex of his spine and tailbone, this one making the former auror frown at the dark nature of it. This one wasn’t recent, it’d had at least a couple days to set really good. He ran fingertips along the low waistband of plain brown trousers and bit his lip at the responsive shiver.

            Pressing his hands firmly on narrow hips, he nipped at the back of Newt’s neck and didn’t need to hear the yip of surprise to know it happened. Making his way down the curved spinal column, Percy knelt and pressed his lips to the painful mark, pouring intense energy into the bruise. He had to hold tighter to Newt’s hips to keep him from bucking away and idly thought that he should have moved this to their bed. The night was still early enough, he thought with a smirk against the overwarm skin. When the bruise had been healed enough, he eased his grip enough to allow his lover to turn in his arms and was rewarded when a hot, demanding mouth met his.

            His own body thrumming with need and raised energy, Percival whimpered as long fingers buried themselves in his hair, tightening and tugging as they kissed. Kiss was a bit too mild for the ravishing back and forth, and his blood sang at the near forceful way his normally mild-mannered lover took his mouth. Another incredible side effect of using his healing skills; it pushed boundaries and woke that mostly dormant wild nature. Some of the best sex of his life had been after mending Newt’s various wounds, and as screwed up as it was, the more severe the injury, the harder it hit.

            Eager arms pulled him to his feet and he was herded into the bedroom, a laugh on his tongue at the eagerness in which Newt rid him of his vest and shirt. The more compulsive part of him wanted to at least toss them on the chair to be put away later, but Newt didn’t give him the opportunity as his trousers were deftly removed, along with the silk underwear. He was on his back then, swimming in sensation as lips and fingers and long limbs made his flesh sing.

            He grunted when that talented mouth swallowed him down to the root, greedy and eager to taste. It was his turn to grip that silky mop of auburn curls and the jolt of pure lust went straight to his core when he looked down to see his impressive cock disappear almost completely. There was little left of the shy, unassuming man that couldn’t… no _refused_ to make eye contact with most humans. He felt the familiar tingle at the base of his spine and he tugged at Newt’s hair with a grumbled moan, pulling hard to make him release the suction. A wicked smile turned those wet, swollen lips up and there was no need for words, but Percival tried anyway.

            _“I need you.”_

            Newt nodded and made his way back up, nipping and sucking small marks into Percival’s abdomen, ribcage and chest, stopping to suckle at a sensitive nipple that made him jerk and cry out, hips surging up looking for any sort of contact. He wrapped his leg around Newt’s thigh, gritting his teeth when his erection connected with warm muscle. It didn’t take much to reverse their position and Percival soon had him pinned to the soft mattress, gasping and arching wantonly. He wished desperately to be able to hear the sounds he could _feel_ vibrating through their chests pressed together.

            He hadn’t heard Newt’s voice in the time before. As many years as he’d been friends with Theseus, he’d never had the pleasure of meeting his little brother. Most of their adventures had been abroad during the war, and during peace time, Newt had been off on some escapade or another. It wasn’t until after his kidnapping and subsequent rescue that he’d put a face to the name. His only regret was… was that… Thoughts were derailed as a strong, callused hand closed around his length and _stroked_. He heard the breath against his ear and he shuddered, attention redoubled on the fiery man taking him apart from underneath.

            His head fell down, resting against Newt’s, their breath mingling as he closed his eyes and just _felt_. It was heat and wet and nerve endings humming with pleasure. Newt’s skin was incredibly soft, but it wasn’t smooth. He took his time finding and kissing each scar, running his mouth over them, biting down on some to make his own marks, his eyes still closed as he took in every jerk, shiver, and vibration. When he reached the apex of his love’s thighs, Percival bit at the tender flesh of his inner leg, then slipped his hands under and pulled. Finally opening his eyes, he nearly came just at the sight of a leanly muscled, red-splotched chest and one of Newt’s arms flung over his head to grip the pillows, while the other was fisted in the bedding.

            He loved seeing the normally stilted, antisocial man undone like this, knowing that it was all for him. No one else had ever done this. No one else had ever touched him, felt him… fucked him like this. As the thought crossed his mind, he wordlessly cast the familiar lubricating charm and promptly slipped two fingers inside while sucking a bruise into a sensitive spot just to the right of a hipbone. Percival could almost hear the pleasured shout, but shook off that fantasy when Newt lost patience and tugged him up, one hand in his hair, the other wrapped around his bicep.

           When they were face to face again, Newt panted, _“Stop playing, Percy. P-please. F-fuck me.”_ Reading lips had never been so goddamn arousing, especially when the lips in question were bitten so beautifully and formed the rarely spoken obscenity.

 _“Say it again.”_ Percival had no idea what his voice sounded like, but whatever it was, it (and the third finger joining the first two) had the desired effect. Heavy lidded green eyes fixed directly on his and that mouth moved with gorgeous precision and hips ground down for more.

_“Fuck me, Percy. Gods, please, please fuck me.”_

            There wasn’t much preparation, but when Newt was like this, there wasn’t much point to drawing it out. Awkward, shy, just a touch on the unbalanced side, and openly unwilling to tolerate most human touch, there had been jokes around the auror offices when they didn’t think Percival could pick up on it, that the magizooligist wasn’t attracted to either sex. One uncouth individual had even suggested crudely that he wasn’t even into his own species. One Auror Jones was now taking Goldstein’s place in Wand Permits. There had never been any doubt in Percival’s mind that this sort of passion ran through the younger wizard; he’d known it from the moment their hands had met when Newt had adjusted his fingers in the right way to sign the word _coffee_ during their second lesson. And now as he eased his way into the achingly tight entrance, he had no idea how the others could overlook it.

            Barely giving either of them time to adjust, Newt was moving under him, undulating in a way that shouldn’t even be fucking legal. Giving in, Percival lifted up, cupped his hands under Newt’s cheeks and brought them together in a punishing thrust. That was it, that’s what he needed. All of this had been an almost agonizing build up- from the healing to the foreplay, even the minimal preparation.

            Hips finally snapping in the fast, hard rhythm he knew his partner wanted from the beginning, he watched Newt come completely unhinged. Magic tingled across their skin, almost visible as Newt surged up and pushed him back, never losing contact as he took the top position. There was something overwhelming about him, something powerful and elemental as he rode Percival hard. Sweat glistened on his skin, flesh rippling, hands hot on Percival’s chest as he braced himself.

            It wasn’t going to last long, and that was all right. Percival gripped Newt’s thighs, nails digging in and scraping down of their own volition. Those magic hips stuttered and it was all he could do to keep his eyes trained on Newt’s face above him, intent and slack all at once as he fell into near violent climax. It was that look of utter, sensual devastation that threw Percival into his own release and he wrapped his arms around his lover’s back, holding him tight as they both rode the waves out to the end.

             Afterward, cradling Newt’s limp and slightly shaky form, Percival closed his eyes and pressed his face into sweat damp curls, breathing in deep. Irreversibly damaged and scarred, he’d never be the man he was _before_ , but if the man he was now was finally good enough to have this beauty in his life, it was worth it.

 

*~*~*

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you guys are wondering, no I'm not giving up on my other fics... Just proving a point to myself... :)


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